Evidently we share the same quality these days: dismalness. A discouraging state of affairs that can be a tad disappointing for both of us and—If I may pander to our mutual delusion—for a couple of random voyeurs who wander in here, sift through your dormant pages, find nothing recent to remark on, blink at your shabbily updated self before clicking away with a fleeting wonder whether you will be as active as you once were. I cannot blame them if in the invariable displeasure of not finding something worth their trouble they’d abandon us both for good. It would be even sadder if that happens.
You see I am the one at fault. I cannot coerce my nerves to find any incentive and bundle up my arbitrary thought patterns into one coherent entry. Inspiration isn’t even a problem before; remember those days when not a single thread of inspiration can be traced in any of the drivels in here? Lack of inspiration didn’t stop us from unleashing ourselves into the blogosphere with abandon and insane disregard for virtues and discipline of good writing!
Yeah, I miss those irresponsible, fun days, too. I know you do miss it twice as much as I do, which makes me even sadder, knowing I have dragged you into the blog update limbo. How unfair is that? How very selfish of me!
Most of my days lately are spent craning my neck towards the horizon.
Waiting for what is to come. What blind faith tells me is coming.
Waiting for a dream to untangle itself from the shadows.
Waiting for a certain fondness that seems to have been doing perilous detours, hence the overdue arrival.
Waiting, swimming in sugared sadness, getting cheerless by the minute, floundering in growing despair, trying to get steady in the face of a frightening certainty that nothing so encouraging is stirring on the horizon.
I’d customarily retreat to you, to music, to movies, to books for comfort and indulgence of few moments where my mind could wander off from burdens and obligations and breathe freely. I am troubled to report that even those trusty distractions prove inadequate.
Meanwhile the shorelines between you and me seem to have been subjugated by indifferent gulfs that divide us into distant blurs. I wave anxiously at you, and in my mind you are waving back in the same fervor, but you seem to be fading farther to hear my words.
One of these days I’d stumble upon a raft, befriend the wind, and paddle back into where you are.
We would laugh crisply throughout the summers, our voices piercing their way beyond the clouds.
Till then I remain,
EXCLUSIVE: DUTERTE & XI CONVERSATIONS
3 days ago